Flying 101
by Danzinora Switch
Summary: Previously known as 'Glide'. Series of one-shots based on the recent flying lessons. Chapter thirty-two: DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME. Never solo hand-prop the airplane unless there is NO OTHER OPTION.
1. Glide

**A/N: So I had my introductory flight March 20th, and learned a lot of cool things. One of the things my instructors did was cut off the engines while flying, and nothing much more than that happened when he did so. I figured I could turn that knowledge into a one-shot (though, since I've got a couple more lessons this spring break, I may turn this into a series based on what I learned each time). Why not? Enjoy! Reviews appreciated!**

* * *

One of the best things Murdock enjoyed about missions were the different aircraft he got to fly. Normally Face was responsible for picking out (ahem, scamming) the type of bird he got his hands on, but occasionally that choice fell to him. He loved it. Sometimes he couldn't make up his mind, and only because he was pressed for time would he pick the most practical plane or chopper instead of his favorite one. He would apologize to all the other aircraft as he climbed aboard, promising to come back to them for their turn.

In this particular instance, in the down-in-the-dumps airfield, he chose a smaller plane than was their usual transport. Yeah, B.A. would hate it more, but the smaller planes were easier to land in a field should circumstances ever come to that.

In his haste to procure the lovely bird, he hadn't been able to perform a thorough pre-flight check. That field option was looking more and more real if he read the gauges correctly.

Yep- there went the engines.

The timing was fortuitous, Murdock observed. He was almost to the guys, anyway. He pushed the trim to its limit and then pulled back on the stick to keep the nose level.

Quiet.

When most people thought of engine failure in an airplane (while it was flying) they pictured it screaming out of the sky, out of control, and the crew bailing out. Granted, that had happened a few times to Murdock, but normally other factors were in play. The fuselage was full of bullet holes, or the ailerons were stuck, part of their tail had been shot off- those would pitch you in a nosedive.

But if it was just a loss of power? Pretty piece of cake.

Keeping the nose level, Murdock relaxed as the plane sailed in a comfortable glide. They still weren't too far from the others, though in case weather problems sent them down sooner than planned he kept an eye on every available field below. He was pretty confident, however, that they would make it.

"Why, I know I couldn't clean you up when I first picked you, but there'll be time for that once we're down, don't you worry," he cooed reassuringly. "That way you'll get a proper check an' I can make sure everything's as it's supposed to be. But you're a good ol' gal, aren't ya? You're not panicking or anythin' over this- I'll bet you've done this before, haven't ya?" He patted the instrument panel. "Well, right now it's just you an' me up in the big blue." He settled back in his seat, a peaceful smile coming over his face.

2000 feet up in the air and falling steadily and smoothly. Murdock sang quietly to himself and used the time to just look out at the sky. No radio chirped. No engine drowned out everything else. No bullets flying at him.

Just him.

And the plane.

And the sky.


	2. Patterns

**A/N: So I did turn this into a series! Yay! We had some low clouds today so had to do some lower altitude maneuvers. Hopefully Thursday will be nicer :) Also, I don't have firsthand experience with the yoke, since the plane we're flying has a stick, but I've researched it and I know it has the same control operations. I also haven't flown a side-by-side two-seater trainer: we're in a front/back layout. If there are any ambiguities/errors, please let me know and I shall endeavor to correct it. Reviews are appreciated!**

* * *

"Hey, Faceman, take the controls here for a second, I gotta use the restroom."

Face dropped his book, bewildered, as Murdock dropped the headset in his lap and exited the cockpit.

"What in the-" he fumbled getting the headset on. "You couldn't hold it till we got to the airport?" he shouted.

"Nope!" drifted a call from the (fortunately) bathroom. "A 32-ounce smoothie waits for nobody!"

"Geez!" Face grumbled. He eyed the controls, uneasy. Delicately, he touched the yoke. He gripped the sides.

Okay. They were almost to the airfield. This should work like the wheel on a car, right? They were drifting a bit to the right, so he turned it left.

The whole plane tipped sideways.

Face cursed as he nearly fell out of seat (thankfully he still had his seatbelt attached). Why were they sideways? He turned the yoke the other way and the plane leveled- and banked in the other direction.

"Ack!"

He kept twisting the yoke in small increments, doing his best to level the plane. He jumped when a hand gripped his shoulder, and sagged in relief as Murdock sat down and took the headset. He turned up the volume on the radio- which Face hadn't realized had been chattering, and smoothed out their flight.

After a moment, Murdock spoke. "You may not want to go back in that bathroom."

Face cringed. "Sorry."

"Were you trying to turn her?" Murdock continued.

He nodded. "Yeah. I figured you'd just turn the wheel like you would a car-"

Murdock looked down at the yoke, surprised. "What? Noooo, no, no, no, no, no. This is our pitch and attitude. Keeps us level an' straight, an' parallel with the horizon. You steer with your feet." He grinned widely at Face and wiggled his eyebrows as he tapped a dance on the rudders.

"Ah," Face said, his face still screaming nervousness. "I see."

"Want to give it another go?" Murdock asked.

"Not particularly, no."

"Y'sure? We're blending into the air traffic around the airport. Perfect time to do it."

"We are?" Face peered out over the nose, but didn't see any planes.

"Yup. Not very busy, today. But see how we're coming in at an angle to the runway? This way, if there were a lot of planes comin' and goin' we fit right into the rectangular pattern. Y'sure you don't want to fly some of that pattern?"

"I'll pass, Murdock."

"It's just making 90 degree left turns."

Face mulled it over in his head, and then made the mistake of looking at Murdock-

-who was doing a marvelous impression of a sad puppy dog.

"Fine," Face relented. "But don't leave the cockpit this time."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Facey, this is best part!" Murdock chirped.

Murdock eased them into the rectangular pattern. "Okay, see the direction we're going, parallel to the runway?"

"…Yeah."

"This is upwind. If a plane was landing or taking off, they'd be facing our same direction. Got that?"

"Okay."

"Now you're going to tap the left rudder- that's the pedal under your left foot- and turn us once we're at the end of the runway. If you feel we're banking too much for your liking, move the yoke right to compensate. That'll level us."

Face could think of many things to say, but bit the inside of his cheek. Tentatively, he pressed down on the pedal.

The plane started turning to the left.

They kept turning, and when they were perpendicular to the runway he took his foot off the pedal and relaxed.

Murdock straightened them out. "Pretty good," he said approvingly. "Now, our heading is crosswind to the runway. See that?"

"I do."

"Okay, we're going to turn again, just like we did before, so that we're heading downwind. Ready?"

Face nodded, and repeated his maneuvers. While he was focused on that, Murdock dialed back the throttle to drop their power and altitude.

"That's it, see? You got it."

They straightened out, and flew once again parallel to the runway- only this time on the other side and in the opposite direction.

"Now, we've got one more turn, and then I'll handle the rest. Wanna do that, Face?"

"Why not?" His confidence boosted, Face stepped on the left rudder.

"Whoa! Not too hard, not too hard. Give it a light touch- like drawing pictures on the surface of water."

Not quite understanding the metaphor, Face nevertheless backed off.

"Give the right rudder a little push to keep 'er straight."

Face complied, and Murdock radioed in their direction again. "Okay, now we're on our base. This is perpendicular on the other other other side of the runway, and those big numbers down there on our left are where planes start to take off and start to land. That's where we're headed. You want to land us?"

"Noooo, I think you should do that, I mean, I wouldn't want to deprive you of the 'best part'," Face said quickly.

Murdock grinned. "Best part is taking off. Second best part is landing."

Face smiled weakly.

Murdock turned them left one more time and brought them down the final approach onto the runway. They landed, taxied to the spot where Hannibal and B.A. were waiting for them, and then cut the engine.

Murdock turned sideways in his seat and grinned widely and mischievously at Face.

"What?" Face asked, a bit unnerved.

"Congratulations! Your introductory flight consisted of ground-based maneuvers! This means I can let you fly us around in future rectangular patterns, right?"

"Well, I don't know about _that_…"

"Right?"

"I'd really rather not, Murdock."

"_Right?_"

"…"

"You know you loved it."


	3. Stall

**A/N: A bit more interesting today- we practiced stalls and slow flight in weather that was a bit choppy (wind all over the place, despite the clear skies). Lots of fun about the headrush when you pitch straight down- and I had the bad knack of turning stalls into spins which was _really_ entertaining :) On the side, we practiced more with taxiing, the radio, and at the end Dutch rolls! But more of that later. So here we go: stalls!**

* * *

"Go, Murdock!"

At Hannibal's cry Murdock opened the throttle and the plane rapidly lifted off the runway. In the back, B.A.'s shouts of "I ain't flyin'!" quickly fell silent.

Hannibal appeared at Murdock's shoulder. "We've got to get higher."

"We're climbing, Hannibal," Murdock replied.

"No, we need more than this. Those goons have sensors spread all over this region to track us. We've got to get above their range _now_, or we'll have a fully operational V-2 missile bearing down on us."

"You got it." Murdock made sure the throttle was completely open, and pulled their pitch up. "1700 and climbing."

"Higher." Hannibal looked visibly anxious.

A bit uneasy, Murdock pulled back further on the yoke. Face called back from where he was strapping down B.A. "Those sensors go over 2000 feet up!"

"We need to get higher, Murdock," Hannibal pressed. He glanced out the window for any rockets.

"One moment… sir." He _really_ didn't want to increase their angle of attack any higher. He didn't know the specific configurations for this airplane, and wasn't quite sure where her maximum angle of attack was…

Oh. Found it.

The little horn started blaring its stall warning seconds before the airplane shuddered and the nose dropped sharply.

For anybody not strapped in- Hannibal and Face- it meant a frightening tumble _down_ towards the front.

Grunting, Murdock relaxed the back pressure by easing (quickly) the yoke forward. From the cockpit, it looked a bit like the plane was making a dive- even though a dive was the last thing they wanted.

The plane quickly stabilized and pulled up, and Murdock relaxed and eased them back into a gentler climb. "2500 feet and holding," he announced as the others peeled themselves off the floor. "Do you need higher?"

"No, I think we're good," Hannibal answered, shaking his head briskly to clear it. "What was that?"

"Hm? Plane stalled. We were pointed up too far. She couldn't handle that much, now, could she, but don't feel too bad, ol' Bessie, you did just fine comin' out of it, we didn't spin or roll at all, now, did we?" He cooed lovingly to the airplane and stroked the instruments.

Face and Hannibal watched him, a bit weirded out.

Murdock straightened. "Now, as much fun as stalls can be, it's not what an airplane's supposed to do, so with your permission, Colonel, _I'll_ handle the altitude climb next time, 'kay?"

Hannibal grinned. "Right."


	4. Dutch Rolls

**A/N: Still flying, folks! Goodness, I didn't think the ACT, prom, and finals would add up to a month! Finally got back out on the airfield today, really excited to get going. Maybe a little too excited. It really must have been awhile because as I walked up to the plane to do the preflight I turned around and BAM! clocked my head right on the wing. Since we mainly did coordinated turns and slow flight, I picked the more interesting coordination exercise to write about, one which has a purpose that I think is totally Murdock :) Reviews are loved!**

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It was a small, but proud field day. The staff had slaved away for weeks planning and setting up activities for the youth shelter. B.A. forgot when he _wasn't_ last sawing, hammering, or welding something for the occasion. He was lucky to get the guys to help out, but everyone still worked hard.

Now, on the big day, everyone manned their stations. Face was over by a handmade photo booth- and the kids loved it. They piled in with their friends and took hilarious pictures in dozens of poses. Face even gave them tips on what to do with various props.

Hannibal was done up in his Aquamaniac costume. The kids went crazy for him, too- they loved the surprise visit from the monster. B.A. constantly found himself dragged over to take pictures of the kids with him since the costume couldn't fit in the photo booth.

B.A. himself was attending the snack counter, proudly offering an assortment of nuts, fruits, some candies and milk boxes. It honestly warmed his heart to see his kids so happy. They were having a blast.

And though he couldn't bring himself to admit it, the biggest attraction was run by Murdock.

The attraction choice the pilot had picked was mainly influenced by the long, open strip right by the shelter. Somehow he and Face managed to get their hands on a Cessna and haul it back to the youth center. Now kids were lined up excitedly to go up for a ride in groups of two or three.

Murdock enjoyed it just as much as the kids did.

"Hiya, fellas! Now what are your names?" He leaned down with a big grin at the shy siblings in front of him. They were young; a brother and sister of about nine. They shyly told him they were Joshua and Monica.

"Well, Joshica and Monua, do you want to go flying?" he kept up the jovial attitude. They giggled and said yes.

Murdock caught the eye of an older boy- about 15- lurking near them. "I got one more seat, buddy- you want it?"

The boy shrugged, but stepped closer.

A moment later, Murdock was buckling in the kids in the back of the Cessna. He hopped in the pilot's seat and beckoned the older boy to climb in shotgun.

"Okay, kiddoes, this is the 47th flight of the infamous aero-troop Billy and the Eagles, ready to tour the outer parts of La-La L.A. Aaaaaare ya ready?"

"Yes," the kids said from the back.

Murdock capped a hand to his ear. "What was that?"

"YES!" they shouted, excited.

"Well, me too! Let's roll this birdy out!" He looked at the boy next to him, but he kept his eyes downcast.

They took off smoothly and everyone but the teen whooped and hollered together. Murdock howled a little longer than the kids, but settled in for the scenic flight.

He pointed out various buildings, banked and turned a lot so that everyone could see. Joshua and Monica were glued to their windows, wowing at every turn. Even the teen seemed interested.

"Aaaand, here we come back, dipping over the youth shelter, oh look! There's the Aquamaniac waving at us." Sure enough, on the ground was a tiny blueish-green claw, waving in the air.

"Say 'hiya, 'Maniac!'" Murdock said.

"Hiya, Maniac!" the kids waved out the windows.

"Oh, he can't see that. Here, let's wave back so he can see it." Abruptly, the airplane started tipping right then left. The kids loved it. The teen looked a bit bewildered.

"What's the matter?" Murdock asked. He continued to move the yoke and rudders side to side, causing the plane to bank in both directions yet remain on target.

"What are you doing?" the teenager asked.

"Waving back," Murdock grinned. The right wing dipped and rose opposite the left wing.

"Surely that's not what it's called," the teen blinked.

"Well, the proper term is a 'Dutch roll,' though it's not good for much other than coordination and waving." He straightened out and banked to descend some more.

"Wow," the teen said under his breath.

They landed smoothly and rolled to a stop. Joshua and Monica were chattily hyped up as Murdock unbuckled them, and they dashed away to tell their friends all about it. The teen lingered for a moment, looking at the airplane.

"What is it?" Murdock asked, a bit more lucid than normal.

The teen looked at him, a change coming over his face. "I just… I always thought airplanes were kind of boring, before."

Murdock tilted his head and grinned. "Nah. Never."


	5. Engine Failure

**A/N: Hey, y'all! So we did some ground-based maneuvers today, which isn't very interesting to write about, but we had two instances of engine failure (one accidental, one on purpose) that provided fodder for the muse. Going back to 'Patterns' (of which I made a few term changes) when entering a field you normally enter from downwind. Since we did more radio work and even a low pass over the runway they managed to work their way into this story, too :) Quick term: MULTICOM is the frequency used when you're at an airport with no tower, UNICOM, or FBO station. Since they're in the middle of nowhere... well, no spoilers, just read :) Enjoy!**

**Also- the plane I've been learning on makes a cameo! Shoutout to the honey birdy :)**

* * *

Face cringed and pulled at his headphones as another round of French opera blasted through his ears. He squirmed in the backseat of the Aeronca Champ and tapped the pilot's elbow.

"Hey, buddy? You mind turning down the volume? And I don't mean the radio."

"Why suuuuuuuure thing, Facey-man!" Murdock chirped. He dropped his singing to a strong baritone- which wasn't necessarily quieter.

Face groaned and shifted some more in the cramped bird. It was tough to relax over the noise- and from his seat in the back he couldn't even look out a window too well.

He found a semi-comfortable spot and settled in. A moment later he gripped the sides of his seat as the airplane started banking and swerving all over the sky- uncannily in tune with Murdock's singing.

"Uh, Murdock!" he cried. "Watch it, buddy!"

Things got quiet. Face's stomach dropped when he realized what the lack noise meant.

"Murdoooock-"

"Okay, Facey, find a good looking field and convince her to take us," Murdock piped happily. He reached upwards and pulled the trim forward.

"Murdock! What are you doing? Don't we need to bail out?!" Face twisted in his seat and frantically started searching the back compartment.

"No parachutes on this plane, Face, but that's okay, I found a good spot for a low pass, anyway." Murdock hummed to himself as he banked the plane around to a field.

"Murdock, _the freaking engine's died!_"

"I know, I know that Face," Murdock tossed a hand up. "Why else would I be lookin' for a field nowhere near the others?"

Face didn't have an answer for that. He continued gripping his seat, and only belatedly realized that they weren't falling out of the sky.

"How are we still flying?" he asked, after a moment.

"Oh, we're not, don't worry about that," Murdock answered.

Face's eyebrows shot up.

"Technically we're gliding. Y'see, the difference with flying an' gliding is that flying actually involves power whereas gliding is a bit more of a controlled fall-"

"Okay, I get the picture, Murdock!" Face flustered.

"Here's the field!" Murdock perked. He turned the airplane left.

"46-Echo turning crosswind over brownish-red field," he suddenly spoke over the radio.

"Murdock."

"Hm?"

"We're not near an airport."

"Yeah."

"So who're you talking to?"

"MULTICOM."

"Murdock."

"Yes?"

"There's nobody around."

"46-Echo turning downwind brownish-red field, now on final approach."

Face face-palmed.

"And heeeere we go!"

Face looked down and gulped at the rapidly approaching field. He closed his eyes.

"And liftoff!"

What?

Murdock opened the throttle and the engine roared back to life. Sweeping close over the field, they rose into the sky once more.

Face didn't move for a long time in the backseat. Finally, eyes still closed, he spoke.

"Murdock?"

"Yeah, Faceman?"

"You can sing all you want, but please don't make the plane dance again."


	6. Scooches

**A/N: Hey, y'all! We did more traffic patterns and low passes today, but also tried out scooches! (If you're still a little fuzzy on what those are after reading this, feel free to message me with any questions). I also (ahem) almost crashed us when I pointed the stick _forward_ for takeoff- when we were already flying. That drove us down instead of up, and at the very least I'm pretty certain I left some sweet skid marks on the runway.**

**Anyways, I'm not sure when my next lesson will be (and thus the next chapter) because I am on vacation starting the 17th and won't be around. I know, that's two weeks away, but I also work up and save money to pay for the lessons, which takes a couple weeks (hey, look at that). It'll probably be around the end of June unless I get lucky. Well, enjoy this for now!**

* * *

The mission was to essentially turn a single-engine sports aircraft into a bomber.

After all, they've done that before.

Murdock's part of the plan, however, hit a snafu when his bombardier took a stray bullet in the leg (poor plane wasn't meant to block gunfire) and passed out at the sight of blood.

Which left Murdock up front with a bag of grenades.

The other guys were raging the battle below, but without air support Carnelli's goons were getting the upper hand. Murdock chewed his lip, trying to figure out how to go about this.

His face lit up when he noticed a particular pattern. There was a more or less straight line in all that. Sure, the goons were on both sides, but he could handle this. He opened the windows on either side and enjoyed the breeze in his face.

"Alright, little birdy, we need to lose some more altitude for this so I'm gonna slip you down because we don't have a lotta time-" he babbled. He used left ailerons and right rudder so that it appeared the airplane was flying diagonally. What resulted was a rapid descent. Not efficient, but effective.

Now he was set about ten feet off the ground, and coming in fast. The battle was still raging. Murdock spied the first group, a bit to his left, but too wide for him to toss a grenade from here. He used left aileron, and the plane veered left, but the nose stayed forward by his tap dance on the rudders. Breaking out into a German opera, he tossed the grenade out the left window, steering the plane to the right with the ailerons as it exploded.

He continued to scooch across his "line" and throw grenades at thick wads of goons. Left and right- using the ailerons to steer and the rudders to keep the plane straight. He completed his run and rolled out, glancing down with a smile to survey his handiwork.

His passenger came to, and the poor kid looked around the airplane. "What happened?"

"Oh, you missed it!" Murdock crowed. "We had do some scooches to take out the bad guys, but I'll be happy to perform them again so you get this rare treat of aircraft sidewinding!"

"Wahhuh?"

"Hang tight, we're doing it again, this time for kicks! YEEEEAAAAHHHOOOOOOOOO!"

Just as they twisted to make another pass, the kid looked down at the blood on his pant leg. "Oh, man," he sighed and his eyes rolled back into his head again.


	7. Takeoff

**A/N: Sorry it's been a long month, but we're progressing! More of the same ground-reference maneuvers, but today I got to takeoff- first time without any help! Yahoo! Other than that it was a normal flight, despite it being very bumpy (very windy today; scattered showers earlier). When we landed my instructor hopped out and as I was climbing out of my seat the plane literally started blowing away- he grabbed the tail while I enjoyed the unexpected ride. :P**

**So, here's the homage to takeoff. Enjoy!**

* * *

There was a reason Murdock howled on takeoff, and particularly with airplanes over helicopters.

There was something almost magical about the event. Man had been walking and sailing for centuries, but only learned to fly in the last 100 years.

It was both intimidating and thrilling to be facing down the runway. It was like standing in the middle of a deserted highway for the first time- you know it was a road you were told not to be on, and yet there you were.

Here you are.

There's something to be said about that power, of knowing that you had the all clear, and that engine rumbling around you was ready to go. This bird wasn't meant for all that finagling taxiing. She's ready to fly.

And so are you. Stick forward, throttle forward, plane forward- its engine comes up to a roar. If it's a tailwheel the back comes up and you start skipping- it wants to fly. If it's iron then you thunder down the runway for a while, building up speed, speed. Tricycle-gear fabrics are just ready to go.

It's a ridiculously simple start to a complex activity. Both hands go forward. Almost imperceptibly- just apply a little bit of back pressure- and the plane just floats lightly up for what it was meant for. It's beyond effortless- the ground seems to push you up, buffering you away for the sky. Light as a feather- a tingly feeling as the wheels leave the ground, the stick back to angle her up towards the wide, wide blue...

"YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHH-HHHOOOOOOOOOOO!"


	8. Wind

**A/N: Hello! More ground-based maneuvers today, but it was _quite_ choppy, so I figured we'd switch things up and talk about the thing that affects all airplanes and pilots all the time: the almighty wind. AWOS is Automated Weather Observation System- usually a continuous radio loop of the current sky conditions.**

**This may make some of you never want to fly again.**

* * *

Face gripped the seat as the airplane suddenly rose. "Murdock, what are you doing?" he called anxiously.

"Absolutely nothing," came the reply.

"Why did we suddenly rise a couple hundred feet?" he continued. He gripped the seat tighter as the plane was suddenly buffeted to the left.

"Awh, we hit a bump."

"Murdock… we're in the air."

"That is a very astute observation, Faceman."

"How do we hit bumps in the air?"

In reply, the airplane suddenly tipped right.

"Like that," Murdock pointed out. "Choppy wind today."

"You can't smooth us out, some?"

"Well, the AWOS is reporting a mighty wind-spread over several thousand feet, so we'd be either too high or too low for it to matter. Better to just stay buckled up."

"You can't go around the bumps?"

Murdock actually laughed. "Well, if you can see one, let me in on your secret, but otherwise you don't know you've hit a bump until it's already happened." The plane wiggled again. "Although, I should correct my earlier statement. That was more of nice draft which pushed our altitude up- be prepared for a sink, by the way, they're often opposite a rising thermal."

"A what?" Face said moments before they suddenly went straight down- without changing pitch or anything.

"Wheeee!" Murdock crowed as intense tingles shot up their spines. The altimeter spun steadily, dropping.

"There's the sink!"

Face only relaxed when the plane came out of it. He was used to airliners, and Murdock's smooth flying. However, some days the wind couldn't be helped regardless of the pilot's skill.

The plane continued to sporadically bounce up, down, sideways, and tilted. Finally, after many disconcerting moves (such as the one where they turned onto base and their bank suddenly became _much steeper_ than planned) they touched down and taxied to a stop.

Face gave Murdock a longsuffering look. "How is it I'm always the one who ends up flying in small planes like this with you?"

Murdock shrugged and grinned. "Well, I offered B.A. a seat in this bird, but for some reason he said 'no'."

Face nodded sagely. "I can see why."


	9. Rain

**A/N: I'm back! Okay, so we did some more stalls, some more Dutch rolls, and more low passes, but the new/interesting thing for today was the rainstorm that we practiced beside of. It was a large (though as rainstorms go, small) dense, darker spot in the sky, and we actually got to fly through the edge of it, at 2500-3200 feet. :) It was quite beautiful, although you quickly realize that airplanes do not have windshield wipers :P**

**VFR- Visual Flight Rules (as in, you can see clearly). IFR- Instrument Flight Rules (where visibility is so poor you can only rely on your dials).**

* * *

There's something distinctly ethereal about watching rain from the window of an airplane.

Murdock approached the swell, puttering along in his two-seater. In the middle it was dark, as the rain thickly poured down. In larger planes he could still fly straight through it, IFR, but not in a bird this small. He needed at least 3 miles of visibility.

He banked left and circled the scattered shower. The edge of the rainstorm was a bit more ragged, here, so instead of a thick haze there were light, swirling columns hanging frozen in the air, stretching 4000 feet from the bottom of the clouds to the ground below.

Again, it was determinedly fantastic. The fantasy worlds of even his comic books couldn't compare to the mystical sight before him.

The loose columns of remain appeared completely frozen- just wispy lines suspended in the atmosphere. He flew closer, and the plane bounced down a couple hundred feet as it hit the pocket of cooler air the rain created. Off his right wingtip, the thick of the storm continued to fall.

But these lighter patches held his interest.

This poor dusty bird had been found half abandoned in a field, and wouldn't have flown at all if B.A. hadn't worked his magic. Murdock hated that she'd been left to rust.

"Darlin'," he whispered lovingly to her instruments. "I do believe you need a bath."

The plane shuddered as it hit another bump, but Murdock could feel her appreciation.

Droplets started spattering on the windshield, and the wind wicked them off. Murdock found himself getting wet, too, as the rain snuck in through the cracks around the door. He didn't mind- it was a small price to pay for the unique view of this glorious force of nature.

They passed through, skirted around a stray cloud, and continued on towards the sun.


	10. Falling Leaf

**A/N: Also titled 'Coordination'. I'm late in posting this, sorry. I try to write and post each chapter the same day as my lesson, but I had a lesson the day after the last one, and I wanted a break to let chapter 9 digest. Well, it was mainly perfecting coordination, which isn't _that_ interesting by itself, unless it's jazzed up with a fight! Also, Falling Leaf (a continuous stall, recover, stall, recover technique where one keeps holding the stick back) makes an appearance even though it was in the last lesson. Really, I just wanted to showcase how all the different forces and moves work together while flying. Enjoy!**

* * *

Normally, when the A-Team had air support, it made them unbeatable.

It was true in any battle or war. You could have the best tanks and soldiers, but it all meant jack when they were being bombed out of existence by a superior air force.

So Hannibal, wherever applicable, found a way to get Murdock as their eyes in the sky. Bullets, missiles, or bombs were much easier to utilize from above. He normally wielded them on their enemies unchallenged.

Until today. Mind you, while they had been in a few helicopter chases (all of which Murdock won) it was much rarer to be in an airplane race, much less a full-on dogfight. But apparently one of the drug leader's men was an ex-military pilot or something, because he was putting _serious_ heat on Murdock's tail.

Murdock grunted and pulled back on the stick, pulling the retro-fitted bird up in a climbing turn. "Please don't stall, please don't stall," he chanted. He glanced over his right shoulder and saw the militarized Piper Seneca mirroring his move, but rolling out of the turn smoothly left to get closer.

He thought fast. Left aileron and rudder- roll out of the turn so you can maneuver in case you need to run away. He increased his power to gain altitude and get above his rival. The Piper Seneca was at full throttle, too, and rose quickly. They were level, and ready to collide.

Then Murdock got an idea.

Thinking fast, he pointed his bird up further and cut the throttle to idle. She wobbled, stalled, and dropped her nose straight down.

Murdock did not correct it.

He kept holding the stick back as they dropped through the sky. The Piper Seneca and its bullets soared overhead. Murdock glimpsed it off his left wingtip as his plane corrected rose up out of the stall. Not waiting to continue the Falling Leaf, he released the back pressure and applied full throttle as he set off to catch the enemy aircraft.

It turned to bear back down on him.

Murdock gritted his teeth. It was higher, and had the advantage. There were a couple _pings_ on the steel plating and he quickly shoved the stick right and stamped on the rudder. He also pulled back, slightly, changing the pitch so that this bird could regain some altitude.

He flew straight on towards the Piper Seneca, but in no way made it an easy target. It looked like a cross between a high-altitude scooch and a Dutch Roll. His feet and hands worked in tandem. It all controlled the airplane's left, right, up, down, pitch, and yaw. Stick, rudders, throttle, trim; elevators, wings, props, rudder and stabilizers.

It was all a complex dance.

It got him what he wanted. He pulled off a barrel roll in B.A.'s flying machine which got him on the other side of the Piper Seneca, perfectly lined up. He let loose the mounted guns and ripped through her engines. It would force the pilot to land, but if he had any brains he wouldn't _crash_.

Murdock grinned. He turned back towards the showdown on the ground and readied his 'baseball bombs'. Just another day in the life.


	11. Incorrect Landings

**A/N: Otherwise known as Bloopers. More repeats of what I've already done, but I did have some fails in the landing department :P Plus other mistakes by others in the air. Thought I'd share them. The first quote is from Chuck Yeager, as I found out. Anyways, enjoy!**

* * *

Someone once said "there is no such thing as a natural-born pilot."

Granted, this is true. Humans were not born with wings, either the kind with feathers or on metal pins.

As much as he bragged, Murdock worked hard at perfection. He wasn't always a pilot of this caliber. Even on current missions where it looked like he flew with ease he was really putting his concentration into the machine, whether it was flying a helicopter through a gulley or a gunfight, or using an airplane as a bomber or a scare tactic.

It could be challenging at times.

Still, he would like to think that he had improved since his early-bird days. The others looked at him doubtfully as they gathered their things and screwed their heads back on after a particularly rough landing on the side of a mountain.

"Hey, fellas, it could have been a lot worse. This wasn't my best landing, sure, but it wasn't the _worst_."

"Do I wanna know?" Face asked the ceiling.

"I don't," B.A. growled, already shaken but trying to hide it.

"What was your worst?" Hannibal asked with a grin.

Murdock paused and thought for a moment. "I've had a lot of different types of landing… once I cut off our power too soon and we dropped onto the runway like a stone. Another couple of times we had run-ins with some fields… oh! Once when I was just beginning I made a really sweet, smooth landing down the runway. We held her off the ground, decreasing, decreasing and when the wheels touched some forward pressure glued them to the pavement."

"How was that bad?" Hannibal prodded.

He shrugged. "We weren't supposed to be landing yet- it was just gonna be a low pass."

Hannibal nodded sagely.

"But seriously, Murdock, what was your worst landing?" Face asked, now overwhelmed with curiosity.

A sneaky look appeared on the pilot's face. "Ah," he explained, wagging a finger. "The only way I can get away with that experience is because nobody was around- and it's gonna stay that way. Not today, Facey-man, my lips are sealed tighter than a scarf knit by a nervous granny!"

"What the _heck_ you talkin' 'bout, fool?" B.A. exploded incredulously.

Murdock returned Hannibal's wink just in time to escape B.A.'s fists coming for his throat- again.


	12. High-Speed Taxi

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. Mainly review, but we did practice more with high-speed taxis. That's exactly what it means. Enjoy!**

* * *

Every once in a while, or maybe half the time, or okay most of the time, they would come across a ne'er-do-well who was _loaded_ with money.

As in, owned half the county loaded with money.

As in, built their own mansion on top of a mountain loaded with money.

As in, let's build a private runway _inside_ the mountain loaded with money.

It was mainly meant for helicopters, but the only way Hannibal had been able to get them inside was under the guise of an emergency landing. While they were being treated as guests (and crash survivors) by the greedy landowner, Face had dug up the financial files and other evidence of the owner's crimes. And then B.A. accidently blew their cover by forgetting about his "whiplash". And now the mansion's private security team was after them.

Murdock started up the bird's engines and went about hurriedly testing the controls. Good. B.A. was already on board and asleep, and Face and Hannibal were running for him. They'd make it.

Murdock looked over the nose. And then looked up.

"Ouch," he said out loud. "Jiminy, I do believe we've been swallowed alive, so close your eyes, Pinnochio, we're getting out of the belly of the whale."

"Go, Murdock!" Hannibal shouted as he slammed the door shut.

Murdock sucked in a deep breath as he applied power. The plane shuddered across the stone as it picked up speed. Hannibal joined him in the cockpit and took in his concentrated look.

"See, this is why you don't build runways in caves," Murdock muttered.

When an airplane has enough lift, it naturally wants to take off. But in runways with _ceilings_ this poses a problem.

As it was, Murdock carefully controlled the throttle on the bird, never letting it get too high. The tail came up, and then all the action was focused on the rudders. They were zipping down the tunnel- but still had their wheels on the ground.

Tiny corrections. Small changes for as long as possible. The bigger the corrections to keep the plane straight, the more problems you'll encounter. Murdock just kept his yes on the light- the opening into the sky.

A little more power- the plane started skipping. "Not yet…." he pushed.

They shot out of the cave and off the edge of the mountain in one go.

There was a brief, tingling moment of near free-fall before Murdock opened the throttle hard and pulled up. The plane responded beautifully and soared upward. Murdock relaxed as they escaped into the wide, open, blue.

Hannibal grinned. "Great flying, Captain."

"Aw, thank you, and I know you mean that 'cause your nose didn't grow bigger."

From the back Face sighed. "Murdock, for the last time, you're not Jepetto, and your Range Rider action figure didn't come to life!"

"Don't hurt his feelings, Facey. He might just getcha when you least expect it!"


	13. Weight and Balance

**A/N: So no flying last lesson because the birdy was still under maintenance, but we did have a very important lesson on weight and balance. I could go into a lot of detail on this topic, but I feel that too much more would interrupt the flow of the story. So if you have any more questions, feel free to PM me or ask them in the reviews :) I'll add some key terms up here for the moment:**

**Datum: documented starting point of measurement for the airplane**

**Moment: a twisting action with the plane**

**Arm: distances (in inches or millimeters) from the datum for front seats, rear seats, and baggage**

* * *

Murdock always had their numbers down pat.

His, Face's, Hannibal's and B.A.'s combined weight. His and Face's weight. His and Hannibal's weight. His and B.A.'s weight. His, Face's and Hannibal's weight. His, Face's and B.A.'s weight. His, Hannibal's and B.A.'s weight. His weight.

The weight of their gear. The weight of half their gear. The weight of their gear when waterlogged. Plus or minus appropriately to their own weight.

The numbers poured out his head… and onto the wall.

He scrawled all over the wall of his room with the markers for his coloring book. He wrote right across his posters and anything else on the wall. He had to figure out some new numbers before the staff noticed.

Richter still gave him airplane magazines. There were some shiny new birds up, which meant he needed new numbers.

"Empty weight of the…" he paused and consulted the magazine. "Ooh! I'll call you Peaches." He refocused back on the wall. "Empty weight of Peaches= 7,755 pounds… about the same as B.A.'s gold."

He added that number below all the different scrambled weights. Mind you, he never referred to the A-Team by name, not even in writing. That'd land Decker on him faster than a lightning bolt. No, he kept them separate with little symbols. Hannibal's was a straight line with a curl at the end- an abstract of a smoking cigar. Face was a smiley face. And B.A. was a sheep.

"BA, BA, BLACK SHEEP, HAVE YOU ANY WOOL?" Murdock crowed loudly as he added little plus signs to his equations. He pitched his voice up higher and made it waver like a goat. "Yes, I have sir, three bags full!"

What was the datum of Peaches? He consulted the magazine. Oh, right behind her firewall. Perfect. And the arms to the baggage areas?

"Weight times arm equals moment," he murmured to himself. That equation was one that was forever burned into his brain. He could see it in his sleep. He could recite it with his eyes closed.

"Add gas… 6 pounds per gallon… number gallon tank…" he resumed 'Ba, Ba, Black Sheep'.

"Goody, total moment divided by total weight aaaaaaaand there she is!" The center of gravity for Peaches. Eagerly, he examined the interior of the plane.

"Aww, no forward compartment? Poo," he stuck out his lower lip. Note to self: no long flights in Peaches. Heavy as their gear was, if they needed to cross long distances he wanted to pack it forward of the center of gravity so that he wouldn't have to chase the pitch for the entire flight. Of course, if Decker was chasing them and they needed a quick takeoff, climb, and some fancy handling, then they'd have to throw everything in back. Well, they've done that before. He'd just have to find a way to move it all forward once they were in the clear. No biggie… he was committing the numbers to memory, anyway.

"Oh, no!"

Murdock turned with a high arching eyebrow at the nurse covering her mouth with her hands. She ran off and called some other orderlies as Murdock turned back to his equations. Keys jingled and his door opened as they rushed in.

"No, no! You cannot interrupt my genius! I tell you, I am on the verge of a breakthrough!" his voice rose and increasingly took on a German accent as they pulled him away from the wall.

Richter stood in the doorway, observing the math spiraling all over the room. "Did you get what you need, Murdock?" he asked amiably.

Murdock held out his hands. "My fingers are all smudgy," he pouted.

The doctor just nodded sagely. "I take it that the magazines were informative, then."


	14. Compensation for Crosswind

**A/N: Sorry this took so long (and that it's so short!). I was supposed to have this chapter up last week. Oh well. I should update again tomorrow, though. We practiced (or tried to practice) landings, and included different forms of it. We had a couple extreme crosswinds that gave us trouble, and my instructor taught a fun and interesting way to land with one of those (not the only way, but one of them). And yes, we really did this. :D!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Face squinted into the wind, trying to spot the tailwheel that Murdock had been commanding during their most recent shootout. It had passed by several times overhead dropping "bombs" and giving scares during the battle, but had yet to reappear ever since Hannibal roped up the last of the crooks. B.A. was off tinkering to his precious van, which had sustained a few bullet holes, and Hannibal approached him, also looking across the grass at the runway.

"You don't think he crashed, did he?" Face asked, shielding his brow.

"No," Hannibal said as he attempted to light his cigar. The wind kept extinguishing the flame so he cupped his hand around it. "He can handle it. This left crosswind's certainly picked up though, and might be giving him trouble."

"Murdock, though?" Face knew it was hypocritical- after all, he'd first assumed that the expert pilot had crashed.

He was about to continue when he heard a faint noise behind him. He turned around and Hannibal raised his head as they looked down the far end of the runway. The yowling increased to a crescendo and faded with the Doppler Effect.

Murdock roared past them in the taildragger with only the left main wheel touching the tarmac. His uninhibited howling sounded louder than the engine. Hannibal and Face watched him ride the one wheel towards the other side of the runway as he landed the bird.

"See?" Hannibal said, grinning. "I told you he could handle it."


	15. Starting

**A/N: This was supposed to be up Thursday, but developments prevented that. Actually, we couldn't get up in the air on Thursday, because the plane wouldn't start. Turns out she has a fuel line problem, but during our attempts to fly we pretty much went through almost every possible way to start an airplane. It normally doesn't take this long, but our characters here have some trouble. Enjoy!**

**Brief note: I can't recall, at the time I'm writing this, which direction the prop turned whilst pumping the throttle. Forgive me if I made this error.**

* * *

Hannibal and Murdock stared at the dusty yellow taildragger.

Murdock turned to the colonel with a very serious look on his face. Hannibal met his intense gaze.

"Do you want to do this the hard way, or the easy way?" he spoke, channeling Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Hannibal grinned and shrugged. "What would be the challenge?"

"The _challenge_," Murdock contemplated. "Would be you sitting in the cockpit while I crank the prop." He paused. "It would also be _me_ sitting in the cockpit while _you_ crank the prop."

Hannibal mulled it over. "I like a little mix to shuffle things up, but we don't have time for that. I'll crank."

"You ever done that before?" Murdock asked.

"A few buddies in Nam taught me and I acted as their starter a couple of times," he answered. He walked over to the prop. "Just tell me when."

Murdock hopped in the front seat and stamped on the brakes. He pulled the stick back, and then opened the side window to make sure Hannibal could hear him. He put the key in the ignition.

"Contact!" Hannibal shouted.

Murdock turned the key on both mags and opened the throttle a little bit. "Switch on, throttle cracked!"

Hannibal tugged on the whole plane to make sure Murdock was on the brakes. Not that he didn't trust Murdock; it was just always better to err on the side of caution when starting a propeller with your bare hands.

When he heard the slosh of fluid he yanked down hard on the prop, walking out to the right with the force of his push. The propeller turned maybe once.

Two more tries yielded the same result.

"Switch off, throttle open!"

Hannibal remembered that procedure, and turned the prop backwards three times. "Okay, let's try again."

"Switch on, throttle cracked!"

Still nothing.

Murdock frowned. "I'mma give 'er two shots of prime, Hannibal, wait a moment." He found the primer on the plane and pulled it out. Pushing it in yielded no pressure. He frowned some more. There should have been pressure behind that. He was sorely tempted to pull it out completely and check the oil ring.

"Okay, skip that." He thought for a moment. "Hannibal, turn it backwards some more, I'm going to pump the throttle to get that gas flowing."

As Hannibal complied, Murdock opened and closed the throttle in time with the rotations. They kept it up until Murdock thought he heard the suction of the fuel traveling.

"Okay, switch on, throttle at third power!" he called.

Hannibal tugged the airplane again, then wrenched the prop. The engine sputtered briefly, then the prop bounced back in the other direction.

"No, no, the other way, stubborn little blond!" Murdock scolded the airplane. "Still hot, throttle open!"

It was a lot of power, but they needed to get going.

Hannibal was sweating at the exertion, but was in no way out of shape. He reached up once more, and spun hard on the prop.

The engine roared to life.

Grinning, Murdock dialed back their power and waited as Hannibal walked around the left side of the plane and climbed in. The pilot flashed him a broad smile.

"I do believe we picked the hard way, after all."


	16. Touchdown

**A/N: Howdy-ho, folks! This one's really short but it was buzzing in my brain :P Getting closer to landings- I pulled off two pretty smooth touches where the wheels met pavement. You can probably guess what that's called :) Enjoy!**

* * *

"He's got it! He's got it! I can hardly believe this, folks! He has it and he's running for the end! 40 yards! 30 yards! 20! Oh, the insurmountable odds! 10 yards! And he's almost there- can he pull this off? Will the team make it through? 5 yards! 1 yard! Aaaaaand-" _clunk_. "TOUCHDOWN!"

"Murdock."

"The crowd goes wild! The Alpha Team has made it!"

"Murdock."

"Time for the victory dance!"

"Murdock, I know you hate this DC-3 I found, but is this really necessary?"

"THIS TOUCHDOWN AGAINST ALL POSSIBLE ODDS WILL GO DOWN IN HISTORY!"

"Murdock, a touchdown in football and touching down in an airplane are two different things."


	17. Fixing Trouble

**A/N: Wow, lots of reviews! Thank you guys! Practiced more on wheeled landings, and proved I could get myself out of trouble! If you ever have any questions about dynamics I could only gloss over, please ask! Enjoy!**

* * *

Murdock crossed his arms and pouted. He was normally a very chipper character, finding the positive in everything, but sitting in the copilot's seat with an arrogant "hero" next to him did not improve his mood.

Sure, Edward Ford had his pilot's license, even when Murdock technically didn't, and sure it was Ford's plane, but Murdock didn't like that the man insisted on taking part in their operation to scare off gang members encroaching on the property. This man was never even in the military, what did he know about tactical flying?

Hannibal agreed with him, which was why Murdock was even in the plane in the first place. You don't trust a pompous rich dude out of nowhere.

Murdock cringed throughout the takeoff and the flight (couldn't this guy even make a coordinate turn?) and took the surveillance pictures of the gang's camp as required. Now, the proud Stinson was heading back to the private landing field, and he was more than ready to be rid of Ford's jibba jabba.

"This is 58-Juliet coming in final approach for runway number 2-3, over." Ford spoke so articulately it sounded like he had a British accent. Murdock began to fade out into a realm of boring kings and dissatisfied knights.

The plane jolted as it hit the pavement. Murdock winced- the tailwheel was crow-hopping. Bounce forward and bounce backward- Ford was easing some back pressure in to stop it but it was a bumpy ride.

And then one bounce sent their nose rocketing skyward. That meant they were losing airspeed, pointed up, and too low to the ground to correct a stall. Murdock snapped into action. He opened the throttle and muscled the nose down, ignoring Ford's squawking.

"Do not worry, my king! I shall have us down, immediately!"

He kept a firm control of the plane and eased her down gently, kissing the pavement before locking her into place. After the taxi, he turned to Ford, who'd crossed his arms in a huff.

"That wasn't necessary, I was about to-"

"Yeah, well you 'abouted' too long," Murdock interrupted darkly. He unbuckled his seatbelt and pushed out the door. "I think I should call the Abused Plane Shelter- tell 'em to pick up a poor, hard-ridden Stinson and to give 'er a new home!"


	18. Singing

**A/N: Sorry for the shortness, this one's more of a drabble, but it takes a different side to flying than what I normally discuss. We're still working on landings, not quiiiite there yet, but my instructor started whistling, which was very calming. And then that morphed into a song we both sang, coming down, and I realized that that could be taken another way...**

* * *

Face gripped his seat when Murdock suddenly started singing. Normally this was not an odd occurrence- Murdock sang often and loudly. However, this particular brand of singing did nothing to soothe the conman's nerves.

He watched in anticipation as the runway grew nearer. There was mild turbulence, which Murdock seemed to handle well. The plane eased gently down, and when the mains touched Murdock smoothly went forward with the stick, gluing them to the pavement. The taxi was fine, and when they stopped the engine didn't explode. In fact, nothing radical happened.

Face blinked open his eyes. "Murdock?"

"Yes, Brother Face?" Murdock replied serenely.

"I want you to think about what it means when someone's pilot suddenly starts singing hymns."


	19. Currency

**A/N: So, due to the weather we had ground school today and learned all about flight reviews (BFR's) and the requirements of remaining current in an airplane (as well as the differences between complex and high performance aircraft). And some navigational techniques. And tests. Actually, we covered a lot. As such, I'm mainly focusing on just one aspect here. If you have any further questions, feel free to ask!**

* * *

Murdock walked down the corridor and knocked on the door. After a moment of shuffling it opened, revealing a man in a bathrobe with bloodshot eyes.

"Charlie," Murdock declared. "I have come for my BFR."

The other patient looked at him (almost through him) and nodded. "Okey-doke."

The two shuffled into the room and sat down in two chairs across a table. On the table was a train set.

They sat down and stared at each other. A clock on the wall ticked the seconds by. The minutes stretched on.

Charlie finally stirred. "What," he began. He paused, and almost seemed to lose his train of thought. "What," he repeated. "Is the traveling velocity of an unladen sparrow?"

"It depends on the species," Murdock answered. "But ask me another."

"Right." His brow scrunched but his eyes remained glazed. "Pilotage or dead reckoning?"

"Local, pilotage," Murdock answered, grinning. "Always, always, always. I'll use dead reckoning for longer journeys… lot more math to make sure I reach the markers on time…"

"Yep," Charlie faded out. He stirred again. "Has it been an hour?"

"15 more minutes."

"Oh." They stared at each other some more.

"What?" Charlie licked his lips. "What bird you got this time?"

"Champ," Murdock answered. "Need to get current in a tailwheel, best way to do two at once."

Charlie nodded, like his head was stuck in the motion. "That's a… nice friend you got, who can do that." He shifted and kept twitching. "Wish I was clearer today."

Murdock reached over and patted his knee. "Clear as mud. But you'll still be able to feel your bones rattle from that engine, anyway."

A faded smile ghosted across his face. "Nice, real nice." He zoned out once more. "Has it been an hour?"

Murdock glanced at the clock. "Yes, it has." He stood up, and helped Charlie to his feet. "Let's go."

They walked out into the courtyard and met a well-dressed man in a pair of shades. Face nodded discreetly at Murdock, who nodded discretely at Richter. Richter nodded back, then pointedly turned around. Face opened the car door and Murdock helped Charlie inside.

It was a short drive to the airfield. They got out and walked to the waiting Champ.

Face leaned against the car as Murdock and Charlie boarded the plane. It couldn't fit three people.

Up in the air, Murdock strayed from the pattern and flew all over the city. Charlie remained glued to the window, not saying a word. He used to critique Murdock, but more and more he just remained quiet.

Murdock circled the city a few times, then carefully spoke into the headset.

"It's been an hour."

"Just a little longer," Charlie murmured.

Murdock obliged.

They stayed up in the air until their fuel started running low. Murdock brought the plane back to the airfield, but managed to fit in a couple full-stops and more takeoffs before finally parking. He helped Charlie out of the plane.

"Mighty fine bird," Charlie commented wistfully. "Beautiful machine…" He faded out, but brought himself back from the brink.

"I think you're still as crazy as ever," he chastised. "But you need my signature, don't you?"

"Aw, I can always just say it's written in invisible ink," Murdock joked.

"Oh, you can?" Charlie started patting down his coat. "Where's a pen?"

Murdock handed him one and his logbook. Charlie slowly flipped to the back and signed the flight review. Murdock was good to fly for another two years.

When they drove back to the VA Charlie was almost asleep. Richter met them at the car and helped the older man inside. Murdock stood with Face for a moment.

"You know," Face said. "I could always forge your bi-annual flight review. It's just a signature, and it would save a lot of time."

Murdock stood looking at the hospital. BFR's needed one hour ground time and one hour air. Sure, just signing it would be faster, but… he looked at the door Richter and Charlie had vanished through.

He exhaled through his nose. "Nah, Face," he said. "Some things need to be done the right way."


	20. Written

**A/N: Well, in other news, I passed my written knowledge exam! Although nowadays it's only about 45 minutes, this wasn't always the case. My peek into a Murdock backstory.**

* * *

He wasn't the greatest at tests.

For some reason he always struggled with putting his thoughts onto paper. It was the history of his entire school years- his teachers wondered how a boy so smart in class was always failing the exams.

Eventually, he gave up. Nothing worked- it seemed that he just didn't have the brain for test.

But he really studied for this one. He stayed up hunched over textbooks and manuals, pouring over the pages around a pot of coffee.

His grandmother thought he was crazy- but in a grandmotherly way. She just peeked in his room late at night to see him still studying at the desk with a bare lightbulb, and she would just cluck her tongue and smile "what a crazy boy."

And then she would go make some more coffee.

When the day finally came, Murdock was dropped off into a room with just the required materials. He swallowed, and sat down. He didn't move from his seat for the next four hours.

Less than a week later, he sat nervously in a different chair, rocking his back, bouncing his knees, and chewing his lip. His instructor flipped through papers, an old cigar methodically being chewed into a nub.

"Well," the man said at last. "You're not wrong."

Murdock's heart beat faster. "So… I'm right?"

The cigar rolled a few times across the instructor's chapped lips. "Yes and no."

Murdock thought he might pass out if the man didn't make his point soon.

He dropped the papers on the desk somewhat forcefully. "You know," he said, tapping the stack with his cigar. "I really hate these things."

Murdock forced out a breath. "Why's that?"

"Because you can't measure skill from a bunch of mind-tripping theories," he huffed. "Half of these questions are worded weirdly, the points they're trying to get to are inconsequential and the FAA doesn't know what they want to say or how to say it!"

Murdock hesitated. "So, do I pass?"

"Of course you pass!" his instructor declared. "You're a damn good pilot and this is a damn crappy test and so _I'm_ damn passin' ya!"

A wide grin broke out on Murdock's face. "Thanks… thanks! Awh, man, you won't believe how long I worked on this…"

"Course I do. Went through it, too. Now gimme your damn logbook to sign and let's go flying."


	21. Names

**A/N: The most interesting thing that happened was that I flew in a different plane today! 18-Echo Champ, instead of 46-Echo. Real smooth, too. And it just confirmed that I do have a habit of naming things :) The Honey Birdy and now Checkers.**

**So, in the spirit of Dwight Schultz's birthday today, here's a Murdockian trait that I'm quite sure exists.**

* * *

"Checkers! Oh, how I've missed you!" Murdock threw his arms wide and strode to the airplane.

The others looked around the Texas airfield, frowning slightly. They knew Murdock had sentimental connections here, but wasn't this a little…?

"And Humba! Hello, Honey! Ah, fair Juliet, how ya been? Mr. Schnitz treating you well? You're still hangar-mates, right?

"Crazy man probably thinks he's at a high school reunion," B.A. shook his head as Murdock walked around from plane to plane.

"For all we know, B.A., he is," Face replied.

Hannibal merely grinned and joined Murdock as he strode from airplane to airplane, greeting each one by name. "You flew all of these, Captain?"

"Awh, yes, Colonel, and I missed 'em so much. I need to know that they're getting along okay without me."

"Of course." Hannibal pointed at the next plane. "Who's this?"

"This is Papa Dave. He's ordinary, but up there in years. Junior's next to him."

"I see." Hannibal looked at the next plane. "And this one?"

"Bean," he answered. "The only Lima we got."

Hannibal chuckled at the joke. He noticed the last plane tied down on the field. "And what's that one?"

Murdock's face broke out into a wide grin. He walked over and started tracing a hand across the worn, red paint. "This here's the Baroness," he said proudly. "First plane I ever soloed in." He looked at Hannibal with that same grin on his face. "You never forget your first."

"No, I'm sure you don't."


	22. Landing

**A/N: Well, this should have been up a week ago, I apologize. Anyways, I've finally fully landed a plane! Wheeled touchdown, full stop, taxiing, AND pushing her back and tying her up- everything! While my landing wasn't as nearly as eventful as Murdock's, we did practice this scenario, and my instructor demonstrated what to do. Episode reference: The Beast from the Belly of a Boeing (thanks MommieJen for pointing that out!). Enjoy!**

* * *

He really didn't like instructing landings.

Little tidbits on how to fly? Sure, those were fine. After all, there weren't too many things to run into up in the big blue. But landing? That required finesse.

He trusted Hannibal's judgement, which is why landing that Bel-Air flight proceeded as it did (even if they did come in too fast and break the airport). But with anyone else in any other circumstance Murdock would be very hard-pressed to turn over the controls.

In a sense, landing a plane was like parking a car: it's not the focus people always talk about, but you have to do it every time you drive, and it's always the last thing you master.

"Did you see that? _Did you see that?_ I don't believe it!" Murdock thumped the controls in front of him. Face looked over his newspaper.

"See what?"

"I was lined up perfectly- _perfectly_\- for a wheeled landing and this character decides to take off right in front of me!" Murdock huffed as he brought the plane back up to go around the pattern again. "Man, I intercepted the glide slope at just the right moment, and I was set 'n' ready to touchdown legally with a sweet kiss before this fella decided he couldn't wait!"

"Well, it gives you a chance to do it again," Face offered.

"Face, do you know how often a pilot makes a _perfect_ landing? The best ones are always done when nobody's around. I could've changed that today."

They were halfway on the downwind leg when Murdock switched on the carb heat. When the runway numbers were off his left wingtip he dialed back the throttle until it rested comfortably at 1300 rpm. As they rounded base, they checked for no more planes looking to get a jump on them.

Murdock was still grumbling about his botched landing. "This old little bird might not've had it in her to go around again, but did he think about that? Nooooo, he cut us off anyway!"

They were losing altitude smoothly and were on track for another wheeled landing when a gust of air rocked the airplane skyward. It normally wouldn't have been a problem- except that something came loose and the old plane's engine suddenly died.

"Murdock…!"

Murdock grunted and pulled the throttle idle, simultaneously pushing their nose down. It would be serious trouble if they stalled this close to the ground. The runway zoomed up to them and he pulled back gently on the stick, flaring the plane until all three of its wheels touched the pavement at once.

"See? See? The perfect moment was ruined. Sure, the three-point landing worked, but this poor gal couldn't quite make it for a second run, and it's all because of him-"

"Murdock, at least we're down. Our engine's dead and we're in the middle of the runway. Now get out and help me push."


	23. Dead Transmissions

**A/N: Well, today certainly had many surprises! I almost accidentally soloed- when my instructor cranked the prop I switched it to both mags before dialing back the throttle and while I was doing that the plane started moving forward- whoops :) I thought that would make a great story for today's lesson, but then we had a real, half-dire emergency when suddenly our radio transmissions died. Oh, we could receive just fine, but nobody could hear us, and we couldn't hear each other. All of a sudden flying became very, very visual...**

* * *

"_You doing okay up there, Murdock?_" Hannibal's voice crackled over the radio.

"Ab-so-lutely, Colonel, the package is still asleep and we're entering the traffic pattern now."

"_Alright, we'll meet you down here._"

"Roger, Dodger!"

Murdock settled back in his seat and glanced behind him at where B.A. was strapped in snugly. The big man's head lolled on his shoulders- still thankfully out cold.

He joined the pattern crosswind of the active runway and reached to announce it to the other planes in the area. "00-Lima is entering the pattern crosswind of runway 5, Black Rock airport."

He frowned. When he was saying the airport name he suddenly stopped hearing himself in his headset. "Hey, Big Guy, you up?" He couldn't even hear his own voice through the intercom.

He looked at the button for transmitting. It had a tendency to get stuck- he dug it out as far as it could go, but still nothing.

Murdock looked up. "00-Lima turning downwind runway 5, Black Rock." Nothing in the headset. He narrowed his eyes. His concern grew when he heard- quite clearly- another pilot report his position.

"UNICOM, this is 00-Lima, do you copy?" He waited. No answer. "Black Rock traffic, can anybody read us?"

The normal business rattled on.

Okay. Something was wrong with the transmitter. It wasn't the button- Murdock dug around and checked the battery. Battery was fine. He started fishing through the wires, wondering if something came unplugged…

"No time," he muttered to himself, sitting back up in his seat. He turned on the carb heat and dialed back the throttle for the landing. His eyes darted everywhere- the runway, the sky. With his radio dead he couldn't inform _other_ planes of where _he_ was. He had to keep a sharp eye out.

Someone was taxiing up the ramp. They'd better be paying attention. No one was on base so Murdock went ahead and turned. He listened to the radio in case someone new entered the picture.

Alright, time to just land the plane. He'll look into the problem fully once they were down. He kept his eye on the taxiing aircraft, hoping it noticed him. It seemed to be waiting at the end of the runway. He turned final and brought the bird down easily, turning off as soon as he could.

He pulled off his headset and started searching down around the wires the moment they stopped. He barely noticed Face and Hannibal opening the door and unbuckling B.A.

"Everything okay, Murdock?" Hannibal checked.

"We stopped transmitting," Murdock mentioned. "Not sure why yet- hold on." He reached down and tugged. There was the problem. He held it up and grinned widely.

"One of B.A.'s big gold rings slipped off and knocked a wire loose. Tell that mudsucker that whenever we _do_ have airplane trouble it's his fault."


	24. Mechanics

**A/N: Well, interesting day when the wind was CRAZY but we've already seen that chapter. I sat in on someone's cross country, which was fun and interesting, but I also got to stare at the bird's innards (the champ was in maintenance and I got to see her!) and BAM! Story idea! Thanks for the reviews, everybody, I hope you enjoy this piece!**

* * *

The tip of Murdock's tongue stuck out the side of his mouth ever so slightly as he worked. This took all of his concentration.

He had the left and right mags completed, with the spark plugs arcing up over to join their respective sockets. The oil tank nested comfortably at the bottom and surrounded by everything else. The rotator where the prop would set shone beautifully- he was very proud of how that turned out.

At the bottom and towards the back were the tiny tank and valve used to check fuel quality. It, the mags, and a few others had trailing edges where they were supposed to disappear and connect with the fuel tank. That was a whole 'nother story Murdock didn't want to mess with.

Yet.

Right now he was back in front of the engine carefully piecing together the carburetor. Along each side he had the tubes for venting ambient air already in place, and was installing the valves to release that air into the carburetor at command of the carb heat. He hummed to himself, thinking.

"Enjoying yourself, Mr. Murdock?"

He looked up and smiled playfully at the nurse. "Oh yes, very much," he said happily.

"Great. Is there anything I can get you?"

"Um," he reached for some more LEGOS. "Could I have a jelly sandwich? No peanut butter- it sticks to the top of my mouth and suffocates my brain."

"Alright, and you can take your medication then, too." She smiled and looked at his creation. "That's really coming along!"

"Thank you!" he beamed. He turned back as she left to go put his pills in his sandwich. Hmm… that carburetor was still tricky. He may have to forego his black and grey blocks only rule. Oh well. It needed a little color anyway.


	25. SOLO

**A/N: Probably the biggest milestone in a pilot's journey: the very first time you SOLO. Just you and the airplane! HALLELUJAH! Through in some of my own instructor's sayings- though none of his mannerisms :P TPA means Traffic Pattern Altitude. January 6, 2016! Woo-hoo!**

* * *

You're either doing something really wrong or really right when your instructor decides to get out in the middle of the lesson.

"Now, Murdock, I want you to do at least three trips around the patch, okay?" he shouted over the roar of the engine.

"Okay!" Murdock hollered back. He suddenly realized that Jim was climbing out of the plane. "Wait, now?"

"Of course! Just keep the noisy end in front. Have fun!" He slapped his hand on the door and started walking towards his car.

Murdock slowly turned back towards the front, bug-eyed. "Okay, okay you can do this. C'mon, Baroness, we done this before." He swallowed his nerves as they resumed taxiing.

They taxied down the entire ramp. Murdock called his position out on the radio before rolling out onto the runway.

There it was again. The branch to the blue. His hand gripped the stick in preparation. He's done this before. Several times. This should be no different.

But it was just him and the airplane.

Increased performance parameters- with no extra weight she'll bounce to TPA in no time. This girl can unleash her full power and soar. His heart rate sped up. Soar- that's what he wanted. It's what he's always wanted, so badly. And the sky was so blue today.

The radio crackled. It was Jim. "Murdock. I got my coffee."

Murdock grinned. "Alright, Baroness. Put me back in the sky where I belong."

Both hands went forward smoothly and the engine roared up with energy. Smoothly, smoothly, the wheels rumbled over the ground with the growing power and the back end of the airplane rose. Murdock kept pushing the throttle and the stick forward, they raced across the runway and the engine shouted with that power and speed as it reached full capacity.

And then Murdock tugged ever so gently back on the stick. Such a light touch- and they swept off the face of the earth and buffeted up into the sky.

The sensation and power of the wind and howling engine bubbled in Murdock's gut and he threw his head back in delight and screamed and howled along with it. It was a nonsensical sound- just the human throat trying to put sense to the sheer hysterical joy it suddenly found. Murdock indulged it heartily.

He kept up an amiable conversation with no one and everyone- the Baroness, himself, the sky, that bird. They did three trips around the patch- touch and goes on the runway (such smooth landings, hon)- and then they did three more. And three more. On the tenth one Jim got on the horn and told him to bring 'er back down before they run out of fuel. Grinning, Murdock shook his head and complied.

"We'll do this again tomorrow," he stated.

They rolled back to the tie-down spot where Murdock was promptly assaulted by other pilots, mechanics, the desk clerks, and anyone else who'd wandered into the airport that day. They hosed him down with water amidst the cheers and when there was finally a break in the handshakes and congratulations Murdock saw Jim standing there with a pair of scissors in his hand.

Murdock's grin widened.

"H.M. Murdock," Jim said, walking over. He started cutting the tail of the back of Murdock's shirt off as he spoke. "On this day in history was your first solo." He proudly handed the young pilot the shirt tail and, smiling, looked him straight in the eye.

"You'll never be the same again."


	26. PIC: Pilot In Command

**A/N: Well, there's one lesson I didn't write about because it was more crosswind practice, and redundant, but the last lesson I had, even though it was also more crosswind practice, was absolutely nuts. I think the plane flew me. That being said, it did bring an important point home about nerves of steel. Thus, the series continues. Enjoy!**

**IFR- Instrument Flight Rules (such as clouds, fog, basically you can't see anything out the window).**

* * *

When everything else goes to pot, a pilot must retain control of himself.

You can lose the engines, the rudders, the tail, heck, the entire airplane, but you must not lose your head.

Of course, in his career he's seen many a pilot meet a fatal end due to inattention. Some pilots fall apart under emergency scenarios- he's seen it happen. Normally the rattled nerves are first observed during drills, and then it's work to undo them. However, some manage to slip by, and then wind up panicking when an actual emergency occurs, such that they do not respond correctly. Squish.

Or, good pilots wound up in 'Nam. There was really no way to prepare for that.

Distractions were another problem. On a minor scale, a conversation could lead a pilot to fly into the wrong airspace, or a woman sunbathing outside may lead a pilot to not notice anything about the airplane, like the dropping altitude.

Or, they could fly into a mountain under IFR conditions. Inattention then kills. Murdock heard one fella over the radio get so turned around and disoriented that his last message was an excited burst of "I can see space!" A moment later he hit the water.

So when the wings are falling off and the passengers are screaming, the pilot needs to grab his skull make sure it's screwed on _real, real_ _tight_.

Naturally, there was cause for concern when Murdock first got back behind the yoke after being committed to the psych ward. Reports from all over the country were coming in on the psychological difficulties Vietnam veterans were facing after the war. Flashbacks, nightmares, triggers and worse were leaving once strong soldiers shaking in torment. Compounding his own combat experience were also his nightmares as a POW.

The caution is understandable, Murdock gets that. Every time he flies, the passengers know, to some extent, that they are putting their lives in his hands. The pilot needs to have his head under control. Who trusts the crazy guy to have that?

The first emergency is when an ill-timed gust causes them to stall hardly 100 feet off the ground. It's a crosswind, too, and with one wing down the stall was ready for a spin. Seconds. You need your head in gear to react and keep everyone from dying.

It's a general situation Murdock has been in far more times than anyone should have been in before. Accidents, war… didn't matter. You respond, and you respond correctly. Don't panic. There's no time for you to panic.

Yes, this was after 'Nam. Yes, this was after convictions and a round in a psych ward. He was clinically insane.

And yet, he felt his mind slide back into that place of response, where everything was honed down into fine detail. An intense concentration settled in where most would panic, and a taut, focused effort filled his entire being.

It wasn't the smoothest landing, but they all lived and the plane was intact. Murdock grinned, but it wasn't because of the congratulations.

The purple wobblies may wobble a lot, now, but his instinct for the sky hadn't abandoned him.


	27. G Forces

**A/N: Hello, peeps! Sorry for the delay- the weather hasn't been agreeable to airplanes (Murdock would love it, though). I considered writing about ground school, but it's far less interesting. Anyway, was in a Citabria, surprisingly, and had quite some unexpected fun. You'll see what I mean when Murdock flexes his skills. Thank you, LAGC, and others who review! Enjoy!**

* * *

It was a narrow getaway. In fact, they weren't technically _away_ yet. With bullets bursting around their heels, they had all vaulted into the airplane- even B.A. Man may not like flying, but he had enough sense to know that it was a somewhat better option than the semiautomatics firing at them.

Murdock took and Face buckled a comatose B.A. into a seat. Hannibal made his way up front and crouched behind Murdock's chair.

"We lost track of Diablo and two of his cronies," he informed the pilot. "They could have made it to the airfield before us."

"Roger, Colonel," Murdock replied. They kept their eyes peeled for enemy aircraft.

"Face, where's Baby?" Hannibal called back, searching for his favorite M-60. "We need to turn this bird into a fighter!"

Murdock sucked in a breath. "And barreling out of the blue, coming straight at you is H.M. _"Blue Archduke"_ Murdock, flying ace! With his trusty little fire and gunner crew, the Blue Archduke is known for 492 direct kills! And now, flying deeply through enemy territory, with evil airplanes hiding just beyond the wingtips, the intrepid crew boldly awaits battle!"

"In position, Murdock," Hannibal called from the window. Baby rested on the sill.

"Fantastic! Now, if only the cowardly opponents will show themselves- right!"

A plane appeared abruptly from around a mountain- far too close- and both pilots wildly veered to their rights. Murdock grunted and turned tight, keeping their circle so steep that they could see straight down out the right windows. He kept pulling back hard on the stick to keep their nose up, and everyone felt the slow, strong tug of rising G forces as the plane turned on its axis.

Murdock leveled, facing down the airplane. "Hannibal!" he shouted.

"Wrong window!"

Sparing a glance back, he noticed that Baby was propped out their _left_ side. "Oh." He nudged the nose down, increasing their airspeed, and swiftly flew alongside the aircraft.

Shots exchanged between both of them, and Murdock carefully kept them slightly higher as he circled the enemy. Seeing the other plane's prop wind down and stop, Hannibal ceased fire.

"7 o'clock!" Face called.

Grunting, Murdock turned steeply to the left. Once again, the G's pulled roughly everyone's faces, but the coordinated turn (and probably the forces themselves) held everyone in place. Sweating, Murdock removed his other hand from the throttle and used both to keep the stick back so that the nose wouldn't sink.

Goal one: pull the stick back more.

Goal two: don't pass out.

At last they finished the 180 and Murdock barreled down on the second plane. The two pilots engaged in a dangerous game of chicken before veering to the right. Hannibal opened up on the plane's exposed underbelly as they passed each other. It went careening towards the mountain.

"Nice, Murdock!" Hannibal complimented, grinning at him.

"We good now, Colonel?" he asked.

"I think so. Let's get back to Amy and the others." He straightened and looked back to Face and B.A. Hannibal chuckled.

"What's up?"

"I think your aerobatics were too much on Face- he's passed out against B.A."

Murdock twisted back and grinned. "I'd hate for them to try this in an even more powerful plane."

Hannibal sat down in the copilot's seat and started taking off his gloves. "The Thunderbirds experience came in handy, didn't it?"

"Well, that's a little much, but it was fun," Murdock wiggled his eyebrows. "Want to see how many spins I can do in this bird until my vision darkens?"

"Maybe later."


	28. Nuts

**A/N: I have not been recording every lesson, because I feel like this story is losing its flavor, much to my regret. Depending on how the next two months go, I may not write a chapter every time, even if its something new. We'll see. However, some Murdockian craziness blessed us yesterday, and so here is a chapter for A-Team shenanigans. Reviews are loved dearly!**

* * *

It all started with the two words you never want to hear a pilot say.

"Uh-oh."

Face had scarcely looked up from his newspaper before the plane veered sharply to the left, careening off the runway.

"Hang on!" Murdock shouted.

Murdock pushed on the throttle and the engine sputtered. They continued thundering down the grassy hill towards one of the local farms.

"Murdock-"

"Trying, Face!"

"Murdock, _chickens!_"

The plane hopped a few feet off the ground just in time to avoid complete disaster, though it took the roof of the chicken coop off with it. The plane sank back towards the ground and bumped again.

"House!"

Murdock veered right, and they promptly roared past a barn, hopped over a fence, gave a couple of cows a heart attack, blew through a clothesline and then somehow found themselves back rumbling towards the runway. They skipped over the ground, barely hovering, and then noticed another airplane down taxiing towards them.

"Plane!"

They shot diagonally over the runway and careened wildly across the taxi ramp. The plane leaned precariously to the right and almost side-swiped a hangar before Murdock lurched it to the left. They howled back to the runway, knocked over the Alpha-3 sign and finally, _finally_ lumbered back into the air.

Face had a hand over his beating heart. "What was all that about?"

Murdock shrugged. "I guess she didn't want to land yet."

The conman looked at him incredulously. "You're crazy, you know that?"

"Apparently, so is Shamrock, so no wonder we get along so well." He patted the instrument panel.

Face shook his head, but couldn't deny the craziness within the airplane when they finally landed, got out, and looked at the chicken feathers, smoking wheels, and the pair of bright red boxers clinging to the rudder. Nuts.


	29. Wake Turbulence

**A/N: Back, ladies and gents! After several aborted flights due to bad winds, bad weather, maintenance, and even a forest fire, things are back on track so I should hopefully have some new material to relate to y'all. Also, since Memorial Day crept up on me- my tribute to our veterans is on YouTube, under the same name (Danzinora Switch) "H.M. Murdock- You Can't Take the Sky From Me". Bit old, I know, but I don't think I've mentioned it before. Thank you, Veterans.**

* * *

"Face, this bird had better be as great as you say it is."

Face glanced up from his newspaper. They were still waiting on the ramp behind a KingAir, and all seemed normal. "Murdock, have I ever steered you wrong?"

"Well, there was the incident with the zebra-"

"Ah, ah," Face interrupted, holding up a hand. "We swore we'd never speak of that again."

Murdock nodded, still eyeing the instrument panel. Up ahead, the KingAir rolled onto the runway.

"-besdies, I got this plane from Henrico Benitez as a thank-you gift for doing his taxes. He wouldn't swindle me."

"Mm-hmm," Murdock watched the faster airplane rumble down the runway. It nosed up at about the Alpha-4 marker. Okay. They had to be up in the air before then.

"-although, he did have a small grudge against me for a few months when his daughter visited. Oh, but that was 2 years ago-"

They rolled onto the runway and Murdock announced their position over the radio. Face continued chatting as Murdock opened the throttle and they shot down the stretch of pavement. There was a slight rattling in the engine.

"Come on, come on girl," Murdock coaxed. The plane was taking a little long to get in the air, and Alpha-4 was rapidly approaching.

They struggled up just pass the sign. A few feet above the runway, the whole plane suddenly started shaking.

Face stopped his monologue and looked wildly around. "What's that?"

Murdock masterfully side-stepped to the right of the runway and the ride smoothed out as they continued rising. "It's a good plane, Face, just needs a little more time to get up; I betcha B.A. could fix that in a jiffy and that way we can avoid the wake turbulence from big planes next time, sound good?"

Face nodded after a moment. "Okay. Now, as I was saying, 5 months ago Henrico and I had a little spat where…"


	30. Ground-loop

**A/N: Well, it has been a while, my apologies. There was an incident that put a damper on things, and after missing writing about that it started an unhealthy habit of missing writing about every lesson. The only difference here is that I didn't flip the airplane. I will try to catch up to where I'm at now but consistent updates aren't promised. Please enjoy!**

* * *

Face was trying to relax. It had been a terrible day for him- first Hannibal interrupts his date with a mission (as usual) then he spills coffee all over his new suit, then he nearly gets caught by Decker scamming for supplies and to top everything off they lost the bad guy's important papers.

Quite frankly, he was ready to land and catch some shut-eye.

Murdock was quiet in the cockpit. He knew the pilot had had a long day as well. As it was, they were finally reaching their destination in the dawn light. BA and Hannibal would take even longer; they were driving. Sleep-deprivation seemed to curse them all.

Face stared listlessly out the window as they descended. Before long they bounced down the runway. He grunted. Not Murdock's best job, but hey, after their day he would give him a break.

The tail came down and they taxied along the runway aiming for the next turnoff. Face shifted in his seat when suddenly the left wing was buffeted up and the plane careened into a right turn. Murdock applied power but somehow it seemed both too much and not enough. Their turn sharpened and the plane abruptly wobbled on its mains. The left wing came crashing down and skidded across the runway as they proceeded to careen down an grassy embankment. The ground was soft from the dew and before anyone could react the tires sank into a clod. The plane nosed over and with a teeth-rattling _crunch_ it was over.

Face, wildly coming to his senses, struggled to unstrap himself without landing on his head. He picked his way in the up-bended aircraft to where Murdock was moaning softly.

"Murdock! Are you okay?"

The pilot moaned again and shook his head. Face worked to unstrap him as he spoke. "I'm ruined, Face, absolutely ruined."

"Murdock, what are you talking about?" he grunted.

Free, the forlorn pilot started clambering out of the wreck. "This is the worst thing that could ever happen, Face, and I'm done for. Ruined! I can never show my face here again. I can't come back to this airport. It wasn't even a dramatic crash with engine fires and maydays and missing landing gear- no! It was a nose-over ground-loop! It didn't even have the gumption to put me out of my misery."

Face pinched his brow as the adrenaline rush faded and he processed Murdock's words. "Listen, buddy, it was an accident. Some freak gust or something pushed us."

Murdock groaned pitifully.

Face glanced around to see if any crews had reached them yet. It was looking like they would just have to leave the plane here. "Murdock, we've got to go, okay? It won't be long before somebody sees."

That stirred the distraught pilot. He dramatically put his hand to his forehead as he followed the conman across the hill. "Then just bury me before they get here, because the embarrassment is eating me alive."

"I'm just glad you're okay."

"I'm not, I'm mortified."

"Nobody's perfect, Murdock."

"No, but airplanes are!"

"Geeze Louise…"


	31. Cross-Country (Navigation)

**A/N: Thank you for those reviews! Still got some catching up to do so here's the next installment.  
**

**E6B- a paper/cardboard "calculator" for planning flights**

**VOR- VHF (high frequency) omnidirectional range; basically radio navigation**

**DG- Directional Gyro; far more accurate than an infuriatingly drunk compass.**

* * *

How, how could this possibly be?

He had done a meticulous flight log. His E6B was working. He had the true course, the magnetic course, and everything else accounted for the wind. He had their fuel configured, and he had their altitude established, as well all the frequencies of airports they would pass along the way. The clearance had been approved, and now all they had to do was fly their pretty little route over to Texas.

After all the airplanes with the latest gyros, VOR's, DG's, and more, why was it that now, _now_, he was stuck navigating with the whiskey compass?

Hannibal popped up into the cockpit next to him, peeling off his gloves. "Somethin' bothering you, Captain?"

Murdock glanced at him. "No problem, Colonel."

"Oh?" Hannibal removed the cigar from his mouth. "You seem upset. Is something wrong with the plane Face scammed?"

"Yes, something's wrong with the plane Face scammed!" he exploded. He pointed his finger at the compass sitting atop the instrument panel. "The DG's out, the VOR's no good and _this_ little maniac is drowning in whiskey!"

"Whiskey, Murdock?"

"What do you think it's floating in?" Murdock huffed. "Our heading is to the right of the line so I need it to turn around left so in order to do that I need to turn the plane _right_ to go left but then it swiiiiiings around past what I need to the left of the line so to get it back _right_ I need to go _left_ but all that flies out the window when I accelerate because _then_ it points north and when I back off the power it decides it likes south!" He took a deep breath.

"I want to establish an intervention."

"So the compass is giving you trouble, is that right?" Hannibal clarified with a hint of amusement.

"It doesn't even know which way to point and that's what we have to navigate by for another-" he glanced at his watch. "5 hours!"

"Well, I know it's not the nicest airplane we're used to," Hannibal commented. "Getting rusty on your old-school flight skills?"

Murdock shot him a look. "Never."

He grinned. "Well, then have fun!" He clapped the pilot on the back as he left the cockpit.

Murdock alternated between anxiously looking at the compass and glaring at it. "Alright," he declared. "Tiny corrections. But when we get back down on the ground I'm popping you open and chugging whatever you're swimming around in- _I'm_ the one here who's actually old enough to drink!"


	32. Hand-Propping

**A/N: DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME.  
**

**I mean it. I do go into detail here, but I don't want anyone trying it out by themselves. This method is a last resort only. The man who taught me has written books on _why_ you always want somebody in the cockpit _on the brakes_ when starting the airplane. He was also an Alaskan bush pilot, however, and recognizes that sometimes, when you're alone, you have to start the plane yourself. Being a part of the A-Team, Murdock no doubt has encountered this scenario. This all being said, I want to repeat my point: DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME.**

* * *

Murdock stared at the fabric bird with his hands on his hips. He looked at it cock-eyed, then wandered over to double-check that the seatbelt was firmly holding the stick back. Moving away from the airplane, he looked about the landscape once again to confirm that he was, indeed, alone.

It was rotten luck that he'd fallen out of the bad guy's truck they were tailing, despite the fact it'd been a terrible ride to begin with. When the flap sprung open out a'rollin' he went. Nobody had noticed, fortunately, but _unfortunately_ that meant they were getting away.

But it was _good_ luck that he'd rolled out not too far from someone's private airstrip. The owner of the tailwheel was nowhere to be found, but the keys were hanging on a hook right by the POH. He'd grabbed both and now was faced with this current scenario.

"Well, Billy," he sighed. "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do." He tightened the strap on the stick once more, triple-checked the ropes and chocks, primed the engine, then put the key in the airplane. He had to get off the ground now- those goons were getting further away with every passing minute.

He turned the key to both mags and barely, barely, cracked the throttle. Stepping away, he looped the rope of the chocks over the step on the plane and walked to the prop. He confirmed there was no one else around before placing his hands on the blade.

Normally, someone must _always_ be in the cockpit stamping on the brakes when hand-propping. But desperate times call for desperate measures. Murdock pulled the prop through a couple times before yanking it down, stepping back and to the right as his feet followed through with the motion. The blade caught and roared to life.

After satisfactorily confirming that all his fingers were still attached, he walked to the left side of the plane and reached through the window to dial the throttle back just a tad. Satisfied with the output, he checked the oil pressure and oil temperature before strolling over to the left wing. After untying it, he walked all the way around the back of the aircraft to right wing and untied it. Moving back to the tail, he carefully pulled the rope free and made his way up to the door. Unstrapping the stick, he hauled himself in and planted his feet firmly on the brakes. Only once he was buckled up did he grab the ropes to the chocks and yank them free, tossing them in the back.

"Alright, Billy, let's get this show on the road and this bird in the air!" He whooped once, increased power, and taxied to the runway.

The mission was back on.


End file.
